


the howlers

by trilliananders



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24202564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trilliananders/pseuds/trilliananders
Summary: band!au; you’d always been a fan of the howlers, in your teen years they were your greatest obsession but after the band took a break life went on and they were nothing more than a post on your instagram feed. but what happens in real life if you run into your teen celebrity crush?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 52





	the howlers

They were the sound of your youth. Their heavy guitar and deep bass, the smoky female vocals, the deep meaningful, sometimes, lyrics sung to a funky pop-rock beat. They peaked at the perfect time, just when you began to form your own identity. The Howlers overtook your entire friend group, lunch discussions over which band member was the hottest, pouring over gossip websites and watching endless interviews.

They were the first concert you’d ever gone to.

You stood feet away from the band, screaming at the top of your lungs every word to every song, the heat of the small venue causing your thick eyeliner to raccoon under your eyes, the sweat plastering your hair to your forehead, but it didn’t matter. It was one of the best nights of your childhood. You and three of your closest friends, your Dad standing behind not knowing really what was going on, but you needed a chaperone, so he was just enjoying the show. You’d gushed about how hot they all were afterwards as you ate a burger at Friendly’s and chugged a neon blue milkshake.

Their Rolling Stone cover was tacked to your wall, their cd never left your player and you daydreamed about what it would be like to travel with the band, what it would be like to date one of them.

But honestly you partially forgot about them in the years since you’d grown up. The band took a break years ago and hadn’t gotten back together. They started families, they wrote books, they got social media accounts and one had even gone on to attempt a solo career but didn’t release anything other than an LP.

Your personal favorite member posted videos of him and his dog in his bachelor pad in the smack dab of Brooklyn. He was the most strait-laced of the group. He tended to wear a lot of baseball caps, kept a full beard, and talked about different charitable organizations on his birthday. Your friends had always made fun of you for liking Steve Rogers out of the four band members.

Natasha Romanov with her red hair and smoky voice was lead vocals, James “Bucky” Barnes played guitar and with his tattoos and long hair he was definitely a crowd favorite, Sam Wilson on bass would often have little matches between the two of them for crowd approval which always had seemed so friendly and casual. They’d said in interviews before that they kept an ongoing tally for years, a winner and a loser after each show.

Steve Rogers sat behind his drum set, quiet and measured. A pretty boy with golden hair and blue eyes. Usually in a button up, sometimes in a tie. His hair perfectly combed to the side even tough he had a couple tattoos peaking from where his shirt sleeves were rolled up, a little glimpse into who he was behind the scenes.

In interviews he was quiet, he would share a laugh with his friends, he answered questions articulately.

“He’s the real artist,” Bucky would joke. Steve drew all their cover art. The little scribbles around the lyrics to the songs. He hand-drew a poster that was then printed and released as merch. It sat framed in your old childhood bedroom. A lot of the merch, the designs on the t-shirts, the key chains, pint glasses, vinyl, it was all him. And maybe it was your intense Bronte/Austen phase, but you admired the whole tortured artist thing, you admired the skill it took to draw the way he did. The practice it took.

In his bachelor pad in Brooklyn he had an art studio, that’s what he did now that he was in his thirties. He made and sold art. He’d post pictures of cloth draped canvases and paint stained clothes.

But his posts were lost in the feed of friends getting married and having kids. Other artists posting clips of their new singles and beach vacation pics from friends ‘wishing-i-was-there’ posts in the middle of the workday.

Your favorite part of your workday was clocking out and going home, popping into the little bodega under your apartment to grab a Cubano and a diet coke before sinking into your couch and watching a movie before falling asleep.

You’d just upgraded, fresh out of your last long-term relationship you’d found yourself sleeping on your best friend’s couch while looking for a new place to live. A nice little loft with exposed brick and large industrial windows seemed so perfect. It used to be an old factory, redone to be living space, shops beneath you the length of the building. It had been a godsend, almost like fate. The open floor plan was to die for and while it was at the top of your budget for living in the city you couldn’t say no. You still had boxes to unpack, but this upcoming weekend you were sure you’d get around to it.

The little shop had been a godsend when you’d moved in a few days ago. It had everything a convenience store would, over the counter medicines, emergency rolls of toilet paper, bread, milk, and eggs. A bunch of chips, candy, and soda. And behind the counter two grills where they made hot sandwiches and burgers to request.

They made the best Cubano you’d ever had in your life and you were salivating just thinking about it. You tried to stand out of the way as best as you could, but it was hard in the crowded little shop. If there were any more than one person waiting for food, you’d be shoulder to shoulder with them at the counter.

You stood awkwardly to the side waiting for the sandwich you could see the man, Marcus, grilling on the flat top behind the counter.

“Sorry, could I just squeeze by you?” You cringe knowing you’re in the way, pushing yourself back against the counter to let the man pass, his eyes meeting yours, a soft smile on his lips. “Thank you, sorry about that.” Nervous and shy. But your mouth has already gone dry.

Yeah, you hadn’t paid too much attention to the band members as they’ve gotten older, but you still know what they looked like. And here he was, bearded and baseball capped glory, brushing past you like it was nothing. Which really, it was nothing. Steve Rogers. In the flesh.

“Hey Marcus,” He greeted the man at the flat top, before directing his attention to Marcus’ daughter Natalie at the register. He knew them by name, he came here a lot then. You were speechless. Your heart beating at an irregular rhythm.

“You want your regular?” Marcus asked, already laying more of the thinly shaved deli meat onto the flat top.

“Of course,” He smiled, god his teeth were so white. How does one even get their teeth that white? You awkwardly stood to the side, holding your sweaty can of diet coke, Marcus flipping the two halves of your sandwich together and wrapping them in foil. Steve glanced over at you and you realized you’d been staring, you quickly shift your eyes to the sandwiche placed on the glass sneeze guard, thanking Marcus and casting one last look over at Steve who gave you a short wave and you exit the shop.

Had you been holding your breath that whole time?

You sigh heavily, stopping in front of the dog whose leash was tied to the bike rack out front, Steve’s dog. You couldn’t believe it. You had to get out of here, you didn’t know how to react, and you had to leave before he stepped back outside. 

The relief you felt stumbling into your apartment was unreal.

You’d seen people meet celebrities before, the screaming and crying. Maybe you should have asked for an autograph or a picture? But it just felt wrong. And what if that wasn’t actually him? What if that was just someone who looked a lot like him? Did he live around here? He probably does. There’s a lot of nice brownstones not far away, and while your loft was more of a studio with a loft level, there were more expensive lofts in this building.

You shake your head of it. Don’t be crazy. You unwrapped the heated foil revealing the most beautiful sandwich known to man and figured, he might just go to that bodega for the sandwiches alone.

…

Steve exit the shop, looking left and right on the block, looking for the woman who’d just left. Cursing himself for being such a weirdo. He shouldn’t have waved; he should have just said something instead of standing there and obviously creeping her out. He sighed, looking down at the eager dog in front of him, tail wagging and panting.

“Let’s go home pal.”

It was a short walk to his apartment, steps taken hastily as some half-assed cardio with the guilt of not taking his run that morning. As he unlocked his front door, throwing his keys on the entrance console, his phone rang.

“Hey.” He breathed. Unclipping Benny from his leash, the dog ran into the living room to lay himself on the couch, head on the arm rest looking at his owner.

“Hey Rogers,” The familiar voice greeted him, a baby screaming in the background, “Bucky just wanted me to ask if you were still coming this weekend?” The barbecue for little baby Grace’s first birthday.

“Of course, Nat,” He slipped his denim jacket off his shoulders, hanging it by the door before kicking off his shoes, He gave Benny a guilty look. “I’ll be there.” She sighed on the other end,

“You forgot.”

“No—No,” He did forget. “I already got her a gift and everything.” Another lie. Nat hums on the other end, not believing him. He’d just have to make another trip out tomorrow, maybe run into the cute girl from the bodega.

“So we’ll see you at one?” She asked, “I have a friend coming, she’s really nice—”

“Nat, I don’t need you to set me up on another date.” Steve throws his sandwich onto the kitchen table, rubbing his eyes and sitting heavily in the chair. “I’m actually… kind of seeing someone.” Another lie, but if it gets her off his back… two birds, one stone, right?

“Oh good!” The sigh of relief she gave almost hurt a little, “That’s so good.” Steve could hear her cover the receiver and a muffled, ‘he’s dating again’ which made him roll his eyes. He pulled back the foil, melty cheese coming with it and he picked the cheese off the foil and popped it into his mouth. “So, you’ll bring her to the barbecue then?” His face instantly heated, but she didn’t give him time to reply. “I’ve got to go help Bucky with a blow-out, listen, don’t forget, one pm and we can’t wait to meet her!” Shit.

Truthfully, he hadn’t dated much in the last two years. He would tell people it was to focus on his art, but really, he wasn’t ready. No more than a passing fancy at girls, the odd blind date here or there, but he couldn’t really broach it.

He woefully bit into his sandwich. He thought about the girl from the bodega. Maybe he’ll ask her. Maybe he’ll figure something out. Or maybe he’ll show up single like he actually is and have to just deal with Nat forcing him to talk to every single girl at her daughter’s first birthday party.

But he’d worry about that later.

…

You didn’t go to the bodega for a day after that. Just because you weren’t ready. Like what if it actually was him? Do you say hello? Do you pretend like you don’t even know who he is? You’ve got to be chill. You’ve got to be so chill.

You braved it on Wednesday. Stuffed against the counter and out of the way, you waited for your sandwich. Changing it up today, the special was a patty melt, smothered with grilled onions. Your belly grumbled just thinking about it. But you were paranoid. Every time the bell above the door jingled you thought it would be him, but it wasn’t. You looked stupid and your cheeks were flushed from the awkward stares you’d been getting while looking at every single person who entered the small corner shop.

“Thanks guys,” You smiled, taking the foil wrapped sandwich and your can of soda and stepping outside. You’d barely made it around the corner when you saw him, exiting your building with his hands stuffed into his pockets, headed in your direction and you stop. His eyes drifting up to meet yours and he smiles.

The can of soda, sweaty and poorly balanced slips from your fingers and slams into the concrete, exploding and spraying over both of your shoes, spraying onto his light denim jeans up to his knees. Your mouth drops. You could have died.

“I am so sorry!” Your eyes wide, you think you’re gonna cry, but he just starts laughing. And not like a light chuckle a full belly, holding his chest laugh. You stare at him, open mouthed and embarrassed, growing angrier by the second. “Are you serious?” He had tears in his eyes he was laughing so hard, “Dude what’s so funny?” You huff. He pants, trying to catch his breath and grins at you,

“Sorry, I just…” He stands across from you, and your feel a flutter in your belly, “I just…” You motion for him to go on. The sweet dreamy meet cute you’d imagined having with him dashed from your mind. “I laugh when I get nervous and I thought I was funny that you dropped your soda.” He puts his hands on his hips, looking down at his stained jeans and shoes, before looking back up at you, “Can I buy you another one?” He squat down and picked up the wrecked piece of aluminum.

“I should be offering to dry clean those jeans or something,” You shake your head, moving a piece of hair that stuck itself to your lip, “You don’t owe me another soda, I’m so sorry.” Cheeky, that’s how you’d describe he looked.

“It was my way of asking you out,” He shrugged, “Poor way to do it, but…” The aluminum discarded in the recycling bin to your right. “Uh…” His hand found the back of his neck, nervously scratching the skin there before letting out a short laugh, “I was going to the other day, I’m sorry if I creeped you out I’ve just…”

“I know who you are.” It came out fast and nervous, your mouth hung open and his eyes widened slightly, “I uhm… that’s why I left like that because… I know.” He leans back on his heels slightly.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” This was awkward. “I’m sorry, I used to listen to you guys a lot when I was in high school…” You could see his jaw set.

“So do you want like an autograph or picture or something?” This was going poorly. You sigh and shake your head.

“No, look I’m sorry about your jeans.” You scratch your eyebrow, “If I can help you with the cleaning or… I don’t know. I should probably go.” You step around him and make your way to the steps, entering the building he just exit and shut the door.

A heavy breath as you sunk down behind the door to your apartment, smacking your head against the back of the door twice, and staring at the side of your sofa until you could pull yourself up and move on.

Fucking idiot.

…

What a fucking idiot. Steve sighed, crossing his arms. He came off way harsher than he intended in the end. What a fuck up. He thanked Marcus for his sandwich and walked back out onto the street, following his footsteps two blocks down to a kids store trying to find a gift for Grace. What do you even get a one year old? Nat said no toys. He finished his sandwich before entering the store, browsing the aisles and trying to think about how he could fix the mess he’d just made.

He blamed himself for it.

Some buried demons in his head. It was Sharon’s fault. No it was his. He tries to shake himself from it. Sharon tricked him, for a long time. They were going to get married. He talked about having kids. He was dumb enough to think they didn’t need a prenup. Nat tried to make him think rationally about it,

“It’s just in case Steve,” She told him, “If she’s not worried about divorce it wouldn’t matter either way.”

But it did matter. It mattered a lot to her. It had been the source of every argument they’d ever had. And it suddenly became clear, why hadn’t they had arguments before?

Their entire relationship was one big honeymoon phase. And he was dumb enough to think it was because they were made for each other. Not that he thinks that you should be having a lot of arguments in a relationship, but growth through communication was missing.

She used to agree with whatever he said. She used to do whatever he wanted to do. And he was dumb enough to think it was just because they were soulmates and fit together perfectly when in reality, she’d been planning on taking his money regardless. Half plus alimony, and if they had a kid… half plus alimony and child support.

He couldn’t believe it when he found out. He couldn’t believe Sharon, the woman he’d been with for five years, would have done that to him. Like she didn’t even love him a little?

“Of course,” She said, “Of course I love you.” But how could she have loved him when he found e-mails? So many e-mails. Talking to another man. Talking to someone else about her inevitable divorce. The timeline.

He felt stupid. He’d never felt so stupid in his life.

He’d met Sharon on their last tour. Their goodbye tour before they went on the break they were still on now. She was gorgeous and he was immediately enraptured in her.

“You’re a sucker romantic.” Sam always teased him, because even in high school every girl he ever dated was ‘the-one’. His therapist would tell him it’s a codependency issue founded in the death of his parents; he couldn’t let go.

Their relationship started intensely, she’d moved in with him within three months and they lived together for the entirety of the rest. She never even changed the way his apartment was decorated. The navy and brown bachelor pad. He should have noticed that she didn’t make it her own, but he just thought… he didn’t know what he thought.

And when you said you knew who he was… he’d been hoping you wouldn’t. The Howlers had a couple of number ones but maybe you were into death metal? Maybe you’d been really into rap? Maybe you didn’t know who the members of The Howlers were and just… he could be himself.

He shouldn’t have said that to you, brash as he did.

He fucked it all up. He had to apologize.

But he didn’t even get your name.

…

He’d asked you out. That was your first thought when you woke the next day. You sighed, laying on your sofa, stagnant in a quiet apartment. He’d asked you out and then you told him you knew who he was, which was the truth, but maybe you shouldn’t have?

Your belly growled and your coffee was lukewarm on your coffee table. You shuffle over to the fridge, listlessly opening it to see only condiments and a single yogurt. You really wanted some junk food, but when you went grocery shopping last you know you did that thing where you only do the outside aisles and so that meant you didn’t have any in the house.

But did you feel like venturing out or just ordering take-out? Your pajamas said take-out, maybe postmates, but you couldn’t justify ordering food from a place 10 feet away by foot. So you slipped some jeans on and left. It was early enough that maybe he wouldn’t be out anyway, but at the same time, you lived here too so did it really matter?

No. It didn’t. Fuck him.

A bacon, egg, and cheese. “You want me to put hot sauce on it?” Marcus asked, you grinned,

“Yes please.” He was a really nice guy. This little family owned bodega was his way of making money in America when his family immigrated when he was just a kid. His Dad owned it before him, and now that his Dad is retired, he runs it with the help of his wife and four daughters. His wife was here today, working the register while he worked the grill.

“Steve was asking about you.” He said, “You know him?” His wife, Vanessa, gave you an interesting look.

“We’ve met in passing.” You shrug, “What did he say?”

“He wanted to know if we knew your name,” Vanessa had a knowing smirk on her face, the little grin of knowing Steve’s interest. You shake your head, dismissing it,

“He probably just wants to bill me for spilling soda on his jeans yesterday,” The foil wrapped sandwich was placed on the counter in front of you, “I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

“He’s a nice boy.” Vanessa nods, “And you need a nice boy.” You’d talked to Vanessa idly whenever you’d seen her, the Mother figure that she was she’d given you a discount realizing you lived upstairs, “Resident discount.” But you don’t believe that to be a thing. But she was always so sweet and asked how work was and talked about her eldest daughter who was ready to give birth any day now.

Truthfully, you didn’t need anyone. What you wanted, however, that was much different. But being fresh out of a long-term relationship meant you weren’t quite ready to jump the gun into something new.

Maybe it was a good thing that you fucked up yesterday, because if he had still asked you out you wouldn’t have said no.

You sigh, entering your building, stopping to check your mail before heading up. A couple bills, a magazine you thought you canceled your subscription to, nothing too exciting. You shut the locker and turned to make your way to the elevator.

“Hi.” You were nervous. Steve stood in front of you equally nervous,

“Hi.” You scuff the tip of your shoe against the linoleum.

“Look about yesterday,” He starts,

“It’s not a big deal.”

“No, it is.” He huffs, “I’m sorry, for acting like dick. I didn’t mean to come off so rude and…”

“I don’t want anything from you.” You offer, “Not like… I really don’t want a picture or autograph or anything and it’s not because your band isn’t great and… I just, I wanted to let you know… I don’t know.”

“No, no. I get it.” He shifts awkwardly in front of you. “I uh… I haven’t dated in a while and I’m not really good at this I don’t think… not that I was good at it before, I just…” This was a painful conversation to have. “Do you wanna grab coffee sometime? No pressure, not even a date, unless you want it to be, I mean… I’m about to walk to Devocion? If you wanna come?” You tug your bottom lip between your teeth. “Don’t feel like you have to say yes.” He laughs nervously, “I just owe you a better apology than I’ve just given you.” You thumb the bacon egg and cheese sandwich in your hand, silently debating for a moment longer,

“Sure.”

You ate your sandwich on the way to the coffee shop, Steve making small talk about the spring weather, asking you how you liked the building so far, talking about how Marcus and Vanessa were the only people who really feed him at the moment. How he has a new art exhibition he’d been preparing for.

“I think they get a lot of attention for the name,” He shrugs, “Less than people being there for the art itself.” Which must suck because with all this talking, he got the most animated when talking about his drawing, his art.

“I’ve seen some of it,” You say, tossing the foil into the trash can by the door, Steve holding it open for you and following you inside, “Like cover art, some posters.” He nods,

“I’ve gotten a lot better.” You don’t doubt it. But the stuff he’d been making five years ago was nothing to stick your nose up at. “I feel like I’m making art for me… instead of other people.” He waited at the counter for your drinks while you found a table, wiping the crumbs from the last person off while you sit down, it wasn’t long after that he joined you, sitting across from you and popping the lid off his paper cup. Steam rising.

“I feel like I should have been the one to buy the coffee,” You groan, “Did the soda come out of your jeans?”

“I didn’t even wash them yet.” He shrugs, “Don’t worry about it, honestly.”

It began easily, the flowing of words, questions asked. You told him about your parents and siblings, your job. He talked about Nat and Bucky, their kid Grace. He showed you pictures. Proud godfather he was. He talked about her birthday party this weekend. How Sam lived in Atlanta for the time being, he was directing a movie out there, but was flying up for the weekend.

It started at the surface and then submerged itself deeper.

He talked about Sharon, it poured from his mouth faster than he could stop it. “So I’ve been doing some soul searching… therapy, you know?” He’d been learning about codependency and really finding himself in his art. He looked to be debating something for a moment then said, “Did you want to come to the exhibition Friday? It’s going to be a little busy, and I don’t know how much I’d be able to talk but…”

“Absolutely,” You smiled across at him, and he smiled back.

Later he would give you a little white wrist band, “It’ll get you free drinks.” His art show was in a bar. Rented space, ambient lighting for his sketches and photographs.

You curled your hair and everything, you actually did a full face of makeup, the white wrist band around your wrist and you note the crowd, a guy playing acoustic on the stage and Steve’s drawings everywhere.

People of New York City.

Sketches of Moms carrying groceries in one arm and a kid in the other. Homeless under a bridge. A group of kids eating ice cream in the park. A girl covered head to toe in tattoos grinning, flexing her bicep. They were remarkable. The detail.

There was one set-up. A photo and a drawing side by side. Which one was the real one? It was hard to tell. You leaned forward, trying to see pencil strokes.

“What do you think?” You could have jumped out of your skin, Steve standing bashfully behind you. A nice button down and slacks, his hair combed, and he had even trimmed his beard. He was holding a beer.

You’d seen him when you first walked in, very intensely talking to a blonde woman, before being swept away in other conversations. He’d taken pictures. Signed old album covers. But he found some time it seemed.

“They’re incredible Steve.” He blushed, tonguing his cheek.

“You’re not just saying that?” You roll your eyes, taking a sip of your drink before turning back around.

“This is just a print.” A woman breastfeeding her baby. “I mailed the real one to her, she let me draw it after all.” It was beautiful. They looked so adoringly on each other. Mother and child. They looked at each other like they were the most important person in the world. And to them they were. Utterly gorgeous.

“You captured them well.” He anxiously scratches his neck as you both move onto the next piece. Each one with a little story beneath.

“This woman,” An older woman, fully white hair. Shading below her eyes. She was grinning, yet so tired. “She runs a shelter for battered women, works 15 hours a day. A complete saint.” He says. You go to reply, but a man stepped forward interrupting your conversation. Steve gave you an apologetic look and was dragged away.

It went much like that throughout the night. He could come over for small moments when he could before being torn away by someone wanting to interview, or someone who had complete disregard for waiting their turn. But the night ended with every piece being sold and Steve sitting on the bar stool next to you, knees touching, facing each other, and laughing about the people watching you’d done.

“You should have seen this guy.” You laugh, “The woman that he was with looked like she was going to kill him.” He’d made a sexist comment, something that he’d backtracked almost immediately, but the damage had still been done.

“Did you enjoy yourself though?” He asked, sleeves rolled up, a couple buttons undone. Those tattoos you’d seen in photos peeking out on his skin. You nod,

“I’d never been to one of these before,” and he hadn’t been lying when he said it would be busy. But a lot of people were in and out, not really stopping to appreciate the art but to talk to him. A picture, an autograph.

“I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve gotten asked when we were going to do a reunion tour.” He groans, rubbing his eyes.

“The music was great.” You take a sip of your drink, “But you guys couldn’t have kept that up forever.”

“No,” He agrees, “We couldn’t.” Touring most of the year, the rest of the time in the studio coming up with new music. “In the end we just didn’t feel like our hearts were in it.” As a group they decided to take a break. They had all this money and were all still so young, they enjoyed their life. The fruits of hard labor that came from working fifteen hours a day since they were seventeen.

Yeah it was fun, but it was exhausting.

“And we aren’t saying never, but probably not for another couple years.” You’re a little drunk, truthfully. You can tell he is too by the flush on his cheeks. Your legs are intertwined on the bar stool, talking closely now,

“You’re so fucking pretty.” He sighs, resting his beer bottle on the bar top. “You need to stop.”

“Stop what?” You laugh, leaning back in your chair.

“Just stop.” His eyes half lidded, leaning back. He smiles at you for a minute, “We should get going, let these guys close up.” There were still people idling about. Late night bar patrons and leftovers from the art crowd.

The walk back to your apartment was far too short but made incidentally longer by the two of you being unable to walk completely in a straight line, your shoulder bumping into his and then his into yours. Laughing and stumbling up the steps into your building.

Your back met your front door, Steve’s fingers in your hair, his lips pressed to yours. Panting. He was smooth, parting your lips with his tongue, burying himself against you. Your heart rate rising as your hand fumbled for the doorknob. Your keys hastily shoved in the lock, your back to his chest, his lips trailing down your neck, making you shiver.

When the door opened, and you stepped through you started to feel doubts. You kissed him, he seemed so into it. You let him press you down into his sheets, your blurred brain not functioning properly.

“Wait.” You huff, pressing your palms to his chest, Steve lifts off you clearly worried.

“Are you okay?” You swallow and nod.

“Yeah, I just… I don’t think we should do this.” He backs onto his knees.

“I’m sorry, did I go too far?” He looks panicked, “We really don’t have to, not if you don’t want.” You felt embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t think I’m ready,” You scoot back against the headboard and he leans back on his haunches.

“That’s okay,” He says, “We don’t have to… here, let me…” He stood from the bed, leaving the room for a second, you felt so dumb, like this was a guy you’d had a crush on for a while. And now he was this sweet guy who you’d had amazing conversation with and he was so nice and caring and you were still caught up on the fact that this was how your last relationship started.

A drunk night leading toward three years of being together for the convenience of it. And you didn’t want that. You didn’t want to stumble into drunk sex and feel like you were repeating history. He returned a second later with a glass of water for the each of you. He respectfully sat on the corner of the bed.

“I’m sorry.” You said again, thumbing the rim of your glass. 

“No, don’t be sorry.” He looked at you incredulously. “I don’t think I was really ready either… to be perfectly honest.” Which wasn’t a lie. You sigh in relief. “We should go on another date though,” He said, “Or… a date… whenever you want, really no rush, I mean I really like you…” He groans, “I’m blowing this, I’m just saying like… if you want to spend more time together, even if you’re not ready, I would be… happy to.”

You look at him softly for a moment, the fear that yeah, maybe this guy is just a good guy, sweet and nervous, “I think I would like that.”

His eyes shoot to yours, a smile crossing his face, “Uh… so tomorrow, really small thing if you wanna go. But it’s Grace’s first birthday and the rest of the band would be there, if you want to meet them… that is, but don’t feel like you have to say yes, because you don’t have to say yes, but… it’s just a barbecue and there will be some free food and drinks…” You scoot over, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I’d love to go.” He looks at the wall across from him and nods.

“Oh good.” A sigh of relief, “Good.”

…

You were very nervous, holding Steve’s hand and walking up to the gorgeous brick house in the suburbs just outside of New York. And when the door opened and you saw her. Natasha. Her hair was a mix of red and blonde in the band, long and choppy, tattoos and heavy makeup. It was completely different from the short red pixie cut she had now, bare faced and in a sundress. Her eyes lock onto yours immediately and she grins, looking back at Steve,

“Welcome.” He rolls his eyes, pulling the short woman in for a hug before letting her go, “I’m Natasha, you must be Y/N.” And she pulled you into a hug, she gave very tight hugs, crushing, almost threatening.

“Thank you for having me.” You shift closer to Steve, following them into the house. Midcentury modern design, very minimalist aside from the box of baby toys and little pink chair in the living room.

The backyard is already bustling with activity. Kids running around in a little fenced off area while the heartthrob himself, Bucky Barnes, mans the grill. He’s also sporting a shorter haircut, more tattoos, and wrinkles around his eyes. He laughs with the man next to him. Sam Wilson himself, handsome and gapped tooth smile, holding a beer and having a loud conversation over something soon forgotten. A chorus of ‘hey’s when Steve steps into the back yard. Both Bucky and Sam happy to see him.

You think it’s nice. A lot of bands when they break up, they stop being friends for the most part. But these guys had been friends since they were kids, they made music together, and when it became all too much they made the wise decision to step back, and value their friendship over the band itself.

And they were huggers.

Bucky greeted you first, “If you need help, blink twice.” A joke. “This dude is neurotic.” Another joke, one that caused Steve to glare. “No, but really thank you for coming.”

Sam after, “You know we all thought he was lying when he said he was bringing someone,” His hands rest on your upper arms, “But we are glad you’re here.”

Some other couples, and then friends of Bucky and Nat themselves.

Grace was the cutest thing you’d ever seen and she was so excited to see Steve. “She just learned how to walk,” Nat grinned, handing you a drink. Steve squat down and held his arms out to her, the squealing girl toddling into his arms. You watched in fondness as he blew a raspberry on her belly. Auburn curls and bright blue eyes to die for.

“She’s gorgeous.” You hum.

“Thank you,” Nat crosses her arm looking at her baby babbling to her godfather. The little thing’s fingers holding onto the chain around his neck and gently tugging as he walks back over to you.

“Say hi Gracie.” He holds her hand making her wave to you. You smile and say ‘hi’ in response, but the girl is bashful and hides her face in his neck.

He was a natural. And you think back to what he’d told you in the coffee shop. Sharon. He’d wanted kids. He’d wanted them so badly. But the relationship wasn’t healthy and he couldn’t do that to a kid. “It was for the best really.” He said, “I’m glad we didn’t.”

But you couldn’t lie and say that him being so enraptured with that baby girl didn’t make your ovaries ache.

There was no pressure here. His friends were welcoming, they didn’t ask too many questions outside of where you guys met, “The bodega downstairs, we were both getting a sandwich there.” Steve smiled at you. And what you did for work. But you could feel it kind of unspoken, seeing if you were going to hurt him like the last time he was hurt, which was a shame because Steve is too trusting, too sweet. It’s what got him hurt last time, but he didn’t change that. But that didn’t mean Nat would let go of it so easily.

“Were you a Howlers fan?” Very bluntly asked while you were helping her clean up cake plates, Bucky having taken Gracie in the house to give her a bath and wash the icing off her body.

“I was.” You confirm, “But a lot of people were… he uh… he told me about Sharon.” Nat hummed and asked,

“I know you like him,” She says, “And I know he likes you, I can see it in your faces… but I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t tell you that he can’t handle that happening to him again. So if you’re not in it…” Her eyes steel you, “Don’t be in it. Understood?” You swallow nervously and nod.

“I really like him,” You breathe. She smirks, pushing the trash down with a paper plate,

“I know you do.”

…

“She’s a little intense.” Steve laughs as he drives you back into the city. You huff,

“No kidding, I thought she was going to threaten to murder me if I ever hurt you.” He shook his head,

“She’d always been a little hot headed,” He shrugs, “It’s what Bucky likes about her, a spitfire… they really liked you by the way.” His hand found yours in your lap, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

“Did they?” Sam kept jokingly hitting on you, Bucky and Nat would spark conversation about DIY projects and when they found out you loved their greenhouse system the conversation lasted well past your bedtime. The nightlife in the city greeted you on return. People drunk, lines outside of clubs, the parking garage was quiet when you exit his car.

Taking his hand he walks you back to your apartment. This time you lean your back against the door and look at him.

“What?” He asks, squeezing your hand.

“I just really liked this.” He seems almost bashful now that it was just the two of you. The toes of his shoes touching yours.

“Me too.” Leaning down he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

“Thank you for taking me.” You met his lips again.

“Thank you for agreeing to go with me.” His tongue parts your lips, you couldn’t help but softly moan into his mouth.

“So what are we doing tomorrow?”


End file.
